


Sam in the Cupboard

by samidha



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Community: spnquotefic, Fluff and Crack, Gen, POV Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-05
Updated: 2010-08-05
Packaged: 2018-12-14 12:30:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11783205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samidha/pseuds/samidha
Summary: Prompt from spnquotefic (episode quote): Sam: Don't drop me.





	Sam in the Cupboard

**Author's Note:**

> Today (8/12/17) I will officially finish my uploads. There are a few errant chapters as outtakes of one of my 'verses and I'm still debating if those will go up as outtakes. But today I am surpassing 200,000 words on the site and this is one of my last uploads. Last time I was on the site I didn't upload all my one shots so this is the most fic I've ever had here, plus I committed another few series and a crossover big bang while I was here. Success! The upload took close to 6 weeks and is over 100 works. Feel free to check them out. Also I send appreciation to my subscribers who put up with a lot of email alerts for this to be a thing. :) One more fic and I'm done!

It happens on a Thursday, like everything that's ever been fucked up about Dean's life. He wakes up one day and Sam is _gone_ , or so he thinks for a few heart-stopping moments, because he may have just recently, a little bit, sold his soul for the privilege of having Sam back, okay, and this is not what he needs right now. This is several _miles_ from what he needs right now.

But then he hears his name being called from...the direction of Sam's bed, okay. One fucking tiny "Dean?" but he swears he hears his name. It doesn't sound at all like Sam. It sounds like a freaking...bird call or something, but it's coming from Sam's bed and Dean swears it's his name and, okay, as long as Sam isn't gone Dean can deal with whatever the hell's going on right now.

So he crosses the room calling back, "Sam?"

"Yeah," says the tiny voice. "I'm drowning in sheets, man, get me out of here."

And, yeah, this is officially in the territory of "weird." Dean pulls back Sam's blankets and sheets, but he does it too fast. "FUCK!" screams the tiny voice, and Dean registers a small weighted object is caught up in the fabric, sliding from one side of the bed to the other. He registers the sound of a very tiny being puking or something.

"Shit. Sorry. Did that too fast."

"Just get me _out_ of here."

This time, instead of flinging back the sheets, Dean is more careful. He untangles them slowly and puts a hand out for the tiny creature that says it is Sam. "This way," he calls, and Sam comes scrambling out of a pile of clothes, that dorky as hell whippet shirt and a pair of boxers that Sam went to sleep in last night. Sam crawls out of the top of the shirt and yes, there he is, six inches tall, with Sam's hair and Sam's whacked-as-hell proportions. His arms have a ridiculous wingspan and his legs are still long as hell and okay, Sam is six inches tall and mostly arms and legs and Dean's dimly reminded of Sam's teenage years.

Sam is also covered in little yellow gobs of six inch tall puke.

"Dude. You need a shower," Dean says. "What the fuck happened to you?"

"I don't know. I must have pulled a Dean."

"A what?"

A Dean. You know. Touched something that looked cool and shiny or whatever. I bet you it was in that diner back in New York. Everything was too perfect in there, totally retro... and we had that weird waitress, remember?"

"Mm, yeah, she was all legs," Dean said appreciatively.

"Yeah. Whatever, man."

Okay, yeah, Dean can see why Sam's not that enthused about the waitress right about now. Dean's thinking thoughts about this book he read as a kid, Indian in the Cupboard, and he's wishing for a cupboard right about now because as annoying as his brother is he definitely prefers Sam at full size and able to back Dean up in a fight, okay, and they definitely do not have time for this.

Dean rips a section of the sheet away and picks Sam up. The whole way up Sam is holding onto Dean's hand for dear life and looking kind of green. Dean brings Sam over to the sink and kind of rinses him off, like this is just totally a normal thing he'd do for his brother if he woke up six inches tall. Because apparently that's now in the territory of normal for a Winchester. Fucking God, can they ever get a break?

Sam nearly drowns in the spray from the sink so Dean pretends that doesn't freak him out at all, which Dean is really good at doing. He sits Sam on the rim and kind of spritzes him with one hand instead of letting him sit near the drain. And yeah, Dean needs to fix this, and fast. That waitress starts feeling like the biggest bitch in the history of time the second Dean realizes he just almost drowned his brother on her account.

Dean keeps spritzing Sam with little handfuls of water, which are still strong enough to make Sam curse and shiver. He keeps going til all the puke is gone and then he carefully picks Sam up and wraps him in the square of sheet, toga-style.

"Okay, Sam, any bright ideas before we head back to the diner?" Dean is thinking thoughts about whether Sam will fit in the pocket of his jacket and this is definitely the weirdest day Dean has ever had. Dean's had good days and bad days and fucking terrible days and kill me now days. And Dean Winchester thought he was also the king of weird days, up til now, because this takes the fuckin' cake right here.

"I don't know. It wasn't in the food..."

"Maybe it was in the food. The hell did you order, anyway, a salad wrap with salad on the side?"

"Bite me, Dean."

"I think I'd break you in half."

"Fuck off."

"Okay, you're going in my pocket now, and if you puke in there I am going to kill you."

"Ugh. Whatever. Just don't drop me," Sam says, looking down at the floor and looking as if it seemed a very, very long drop. "And walk slow, okay?"

Dean picks up one of the paper cups by the sink and holds it up for Sam to see. "If you're gonna spew, spew into this," Dean says with no irony whatsoever before he deposits the cup and Sam into his pocket and slows his pace to a crawl.

"Jesus, I don't think I'll ever stop being motion sick again," Sam says in his tiny mouse voice when they get into the Impala.

Dean starts up the car, thinking about the two hundred miles between them and that fucking diner, and yeah, this is gonna be one long-assed day.


End file.
